


The Blake Witch Project

by ChaoticEther



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Weiss Nora and Pyrrha show up, angst and fluff in fairly equal measure, background Seamonkeys, backrgound Valkos, let's say it deserves the M rating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 00:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticEther/pseuds/ChaoticEther
Summary: Mirrors shatter, walls bleed and roses wilt. In a way, that’s the problem; they’re perfectly capable of bringing death wherever they go, but they don’t. Not unless something happens to the other. The death of everything, because nothing else ever really mattered. Chaos, kept in check by the red string of fate tied around both their hearts. Yang looks at Blake and sees the end of all things personified, an endless void of black masquerading as hair that falls to her waist.





	The Blake Witch Project

She must’ve done something wrong. Maybe the pronunciation wasn’t quite right, or the time of day. What _should_ have appeared in the middle of the pentagram is one of the most dangerous demons to have ever been recorded. Instead, there was a blonde girl, hardly looking fazed by the event, irises burning crimson and hair aflame. But calm. She blinked her surroundings into focus, eyes trailing to Blake’s lips and back, tongue slipping over her own lips as though about to speak.  
“This-this can’t be right.” Her summoner interrupted, flicking through the pages of the book again. “The spell is supposed to summon a 7th circle dragon! A being that only knows of destruction!”  
“Oh, baby.” The blonde speaks, and it’s like the world’s already begun to end, playful smirk dancing on her features. “I think you’ll find I’m _plenty_ destructive.”

The mysterious girl steps outside of the cottage, followed in short order by Blake, who can only watch in stunned silence as a series of yellow-red eyes begin glowing in the treeline. Grimm, maybe hundreds of them, all galloping towards the pair. Her tome begins to levitate, the young witch preparing a lightning spell in both hands as the pages turn faster and faster.  
“I’m Yang, by the way.” Time seems to slow for everything save the two of them. Yang’s fists are engulfed in fire, skin replaced by talons and scales. “Ready.” Her stance changes, like she’s been in this very situation several times before, expectant. “Set.” The flames die down, replaced by a crackle of raw demonic energy as her face twists into a cocky grin. “Go.” Before Blake can even complete the first motion, Yang is back, facing her, claws buried into the head of a Beowolf as it whimpers.  
“I just happen to choose _what_ I destroy, unlike the lower level stuff you’ve probably dealt with.” She finishes the sentiment from earlier, punctuated by a loud snapping of bone and the melting of a Grimm. “And right now, it looks like _you_ want to destroy _me_.” Yang winks, irises settling into a lavender colour as her hair falls more naturally against her back.

Somehow, Yang thinks they’ve done this before. Her teeth drag and bite on Blake’s lower lip, leaving it swollen, running her tongue along afterwards, a faint glimmer of crimson seeping out from between eyelashes. She snakes a hand under the witch’s shirt, touching on scars that have no right to be there with a familiarity, an expectance. Except, there’s no possible way that could be. Blake’s the same, hands finding their way to the demon’s hips like it’s where they’ve always belonged, pulling Yang’s legs either side of her thigh and letting one palm splay against the small of her back. They’ve _definitely_ done this before, and it’s the being of chaos that actually stops the pair going any further. It’s not fair on either of them, not fair on the girl who summoned her; emotions run awry without any logic or reason to back them up. Golden eyes. _Always_ golden eyes. Reminders of a sunset long passed, that whole evening playing out in them on repeat.  
“So, what happened to the part where you wanna destroy everything?” Yang jokes, delights in the way colour returns to Blake’s face after the abrupt stop.  
“I think that can wait a bit, now you’re here.”

“What do you mean, _almost_ fucked a demon?” Sun inquires, lifting a muffin to his mouth and checking for any messages on his scroll.  
“It’s just… The way she looked at me, you know? Like-”  
“I was made just to please you?” The demon in question interrupts, stepping out of a portal in the alleyway beside them and raising a hand in greeting. “Hi. Yang.” She turns to Blake without missing a beat, “you said there’s a Grimm infestation you want to check out?” Her tilted head is what finally causes Sun’s composure to break, letting out a loud laugh as his eyes drift from one girl to the other.  
“Seriously? You couldn’t _be_ any more Blake’s type. I’m Sun, by the way.” His friend’s eyes roll as she groans, though he notices the small smile as she does so.  
“It’s supposedly lurking in Forever Fall. We’re more chasing rumours than picking a fight.” Blake ignores the remark, angling her head to let their eyes meet. Yang almost bends down and kisses her right then and there.  
“Either way I get to spend time with you, right?” Asked like it’s even a question.  
“For a demon, you’re awfully calm around someone who could easily make your entire body feel like it’s on fire,” for a split second she meets blood red instead of lilac, almost provoking her to back up the claim. _You belong to me_ goes unsaid, like such a fact would be true even if they weren’t bound together. Perhaps they always have been. The challenge of authority is entirely for show, and Blake knows it, allows herself to indulge in the threat, the faux-uncertainty. Yang’s only been in her life for two days now, and she’d raze cities herself if any harm came to the blonde whose hands are resting lightly on her shoulders. It’s a look they share but neither recognises; the feelings are present but the memories give way to fog, minds trying desperately to fill gaps they both know aren’t really there. Centuries of loving only to lose. Demons always lose. _I’d tear this world apart if it meant never seeing you leave again._ Blake’s stolen glances as Yang snaps her fingers to make a portal echo the statement so clearly, she may as well be screaming it.

Weiss steps out of the beam of light and into the green forest with her eyes steeled, one hand wrapped firmly around her rapier only for it to be stolen by a streak of red, perching itself on a tree branch and waving the sword mockingly; Ruby Rose. Yang Xiao Long’s hybrid half-sister. And, unfortunately, the girl Weiss’s soul is bound to.  
“You’re the one who remembers, correct? The half-breed?” Weiss questions, more out of formality than anything. Ruby simply nods, dropping out of the tree and offering the sword’s hilt back to its owner, holding the blade with no injury.  
“I don’t know why you ask every time, _Ice Queen.”_ There’s a bitterness to the nickname, a weight that could only be understood by holding onto millennia of memories while almost everyone else forgets. “Do you have any clue how many lives it’s been since my sister last found _her_? I’ve counted.” She draws a large scythe, letting it unfold to full size before digging the point into the ground defiantly.  
“Twenty.” Weiss exhales, accepting the part she must play every time. “I can’t… won’t let them get that close again. It’s unfair!” Her breath catches as she lunges forward, eyes closed and tears streaming as the sound of metal piercing flesh grates against her ears. Looking up, silver eyes reflecting the setting Sun down at her, Myrtenaster lodged firmly in Ruby’s abdomen, unflinching.  
“Won’t you sit and watch the world burn with me?” She whispers, far too close to Weiss’s ear.  
“Maybe this time.” The angel replies, letting go of the sword and watching as the hybrid pulls it free, falling backwards onto the grass. It’s nowhere near enough to kill her; they both know that. Weiss isn’t even sure if she could, using Ruby’s hood to keep her dress from touching the grass, mentally drained.

Seeing Forever Fall never gets old. The inky black monsters festering in the shade, however, does. Yang lets herself loose more than last time, scales creeping onto her torso and up her neck as she stares down a Beowolf, dissolving it with a roundhouse kick. Blake levitates almost imperceptibly, ball of lightning gathering in her hand before flying at a group of Ursae, planting an open palm firmly on the chest of the nearest one, and watching as the electricity makes them convulse involuntarily for a brief moment before breaking apart. Her counterpart finds herself staring more than fighting, the practiced motions tugging at frayed edges of something long forgotten. The unnatural way her eyes glow, like there’s more than just the world’s usual magic at play. Supernovas stretch out across them, devastating and inevitable in their own twisted sort of beauty. How they contrast with her own, lilac and serene, the colour of blooming forget-me-nots and hyacinths. When she wasn’t fighting seriously, at least. One last jab, punctuated by a burst of hellfire, and the area is clear. Yang props herself up against a nearby tree, accepting Blake against her like it’s the only way to breathe again, letting the reds of the leaves melt and take the place of the real sky overhead. A light kiss pressed against her hair just because it feels _so right_ to do.  
“So, do you choose what to destroy, or destroy what I tell you?” the witch jokes, playful lilt in her voice, “because right now it seems like the latter.”  
“Baby,” Yang accentuates, letting a smile sneak onto her face as she lowers her mouth to the edge of Blake’s ear, “I’d wreck this forest to see you smile.” And she means it. It’s possible she’s done it before. Watched the trees around them ignite and the girl by her side look entirely at home in the carnage. Locked eyes amidst it, screamed their own confessions over the pleas of wood against fire.

“So, _that’s_ the mysterious Blake I’ve been hearing about all week!” Ruby notes, downplaying her perfect recollections, studying the faunus carefully and jabbing Yang’s shoulder to make her presence known, the pair watching her retreat into the cottage. “I approve.” Not that anything she said would impact her sister’s feelings.  
“It’s crazy, you know? The summoning was just a coincidence, but it feels like-”  
“It wasn’t?” the younger sister interjects, “Like somehow you _knew_ it’d happen.”  
“Yeah.” Yang cuts off the storm of thoughts and feelings forming in her mind with the one word. _Meant to be,_ springs to mind, but is dismissed just as quickly. _They’re only dreams,_ she tells herself, recalling hundreds of nights spent staring into golden eyes, each distant but distinct.

Blake’s dreams are similar. Standing in a ruin, looking out over the smoke-ridden city below until a palm rests itself on her shoulder; she’s burning up, energy streaking out from every pore, and yet someone’s able to grab her, keep her there a little while longer. _It’s not your fault,_ the figure behind her reassures, only to be snatched away to another time, another place. This time a white-haired woman stands over her, exhausted, panting for air. _I can save you,_ a tired voice echoes, tip of her sword hovering over a gap in Blake’s ribcage. Even as she jolts awake it feels like the sword hits its mark, dull ache resting in the same place accompanied by her pulse in her throat. A cry for Yang is stifled, but that doesn’t seem to stop her. Blonde hair fills her vision as the portal closes, and she’s standing there, looking out of the window as calm as ever.  
“How-?” is all Blake manages before the demon speaks, easily anticipating the question.  
“Bonds with demons as powerful as me are different. Mutual would be the best way to describe it, I guess. Like, I can sense when you’re worried.” When she turns, it’s like she’s looking through the witch instead of at her, adrenaline unable to work its way out of her system. Ruby’s hunch was right. Her hand automatically reaches out, brushes Blake’s bangs from her face and settles on her cheek, observes how she leans into the touch in a way no one else would. So rehearsed she must’ve done it a million times, notes the way her breathing slows in reaction to it, accepts Yang’s presence so easily as she perches on the bed beside her, hand remaining affixed, entranced. _I feel like I’ve loved you before._ It begs to be said, weighs her lungs down and stops them expanding. But not tonight. The portal opens once again, and the blonde retreats through it, shoulders wound unnaturally tightly.

All the tension in contracted muscle fails to retreat as she joins Weiss on an island, undiscovered and free from Grimm, staring out over the ocean from the cliffside. The angel’s signature ice-white hair ruffles slightly against her exposed back as the energy of the gateway dissipates, though her hand relaxes away from the sword at its familiarity.  
“You really _are_ stupid enough to come to the girl sent to kill one of you for confirmation,” Weiss sighs, memories she shouldn’t have bubbling just below the surface, “I’m not going to. The people upstairs didn’t do a good job of wiping my memory _this_ time. It’s hazy, but we’re on the same side.”  
“Well, Ruby would just say something about forbidden knowledge, so…” Yang smirks, finally settling into a playful shrug.  
“What makes you think I’d be so eager to tell you?” Weiss questions; a sound line of enquiry, especially given that they’re technically enemies.  
“You’ve felt it too.” She doesn’t need to elaborate now that she’s finally addressing the one person who understands fully. The world ending and leaving just the two of them. The future playing out and they’ve lived it before. Like stars slipping out of perfect balance and spiralling into each other. Arms around them where they belong.  
“I have. But that’s it. A feeling.” Weiss fiddles with her ponytail, lets her hair fall and get caught on the breeze, narrowly avoiding the ground thanks to her heels. “Maybe it’ll come back to you if you spend more time with her.” It’s a coy suggestion, but Yang’s not one to turn down more time with Blake.

“A _date?”_ Blake asks incredulously,  
“Yeah, a date. We can go wherever you want. Provided it’s not too upmarket, anyway,” Yang gestures at herself, sporting an orange t-shirt and ripped denim shorts, a pair of canvas trainers robbing her of most of her height advantage. “I don’t _really_ want to get changed.”  
“Ugh, fine.” Admittedly, she wasn’t very dressed up by her standards either, black crop top and jeans that disappeared into her ankle boots, “what about a bookstore? A proper one. So old and hidden away even the guy behind the counter is dusty.” Blake raises an eyebrow, offers the challenge and a hand to the beautiful girl who just asked her out. Yang nods, brings a hand to her chin to imitate thinking for a few seconds.  
“I think I can do that.” Their hands link, a snap of the fingers making the scenery twist and warp, scents drifting from freshly cut grass to aging oak and paper.

An elder gentleman, very obviously asleep with his feet propped up on the counter behind the register, is the only other inhabitant to be seen. Greying, but still fit, not the type of person you’d expect to see running a bookstore, but not particularly out of place either. The lighting is softer than most stores, more natural and inviting; shelves fill the space, packed from floor to admittedly low ceiling with novels and non-fiction. Blake lifts a few out of their rightful place to inspect the spines clearly; _The Girl in the Tower, The First Six, The Four Maidens._ All fairy tales that she thought were true as a child. In fact, she still didn’t quite believe they were just made up to this very day, an idea Yang picked up on as though reading her mind.  
“You think they happened?” She asks unabashedly.  
“They seem too accurate to just be made up,” the witch replies, ears twitching as the owner audibly stirs.  
“Yang?” The man squints to confirm the assumption before continuing, “Those books you ordered came in this morning. Had a hunch you’d show up soon so I didn’t send a message.” He grins like the universe somehow paid attention to his own forgetfulness, kicking his feet down off the counter.  
“ _You can read!?”_ Blake mocks, wincing a little as the shopkeeper jumps at the different voice. “This changes everything. Maybe I can’t date you after all.”  
“I’m sorry~, it felt like a third date kind of reveal, you know?” Yang cracks a smile as her date does, “He’s my Uncle Qrow. Former demon prince, gave up his power for a human, the usual.”  
“You’re too kind,” Qrow slurs, producing a large sword that had been resting beside him, “all my power’s in here now so I can stay and have my naps in peace.” An unopened box is summarily tossed into his niece’s hands, who lets a talon materialise to pierce through the tape and inspect its contents.  
“This one’s for you!” She adds, handing Blake a black, leather-bound diary and watching intently as she leaves through the empty pages.  
“I-” the faunus stops herself before she’s truly audible, tears pushing their way through self-imposed walls. _You’ve bought me one of these before,_ she thinks of saying, looks back down and can almost make out the neat cursive, interspersed with drawings of those that mean the most to her. Incantations Yang and others had taught her that weren’t supposed to be learned by humans. The moment is broken by the demon’s scroll vibrating in her pocket, shaking the air of the otherwise still room.  
“Ruby wants to meet you,” she explains nonchalantly, not even offering, like it’s a given Blake will come with her, “and _I_ want to meet the girl she’s been spending so much time with.” Yang hooks an arm, waits until her partner’s is threaded through it before travelling to the restaurant’s alleyway.

It's not Blake’s fault that she’s on edge around Weiss. Can’t tear her eyes away from the girl’s shoulder blades, and, when she turns, her collar bone, sometimes further, waiting for a motion that implies the drawing of a weapon. Even in a blue backless dress that fell to her mid-thigh she looked all too capable of murder without a second thought, violence caged by ice-cold eyes and an appraising smirk. Ruby’s different, warmer, a crimson skirt and suspenders complementing a white shirt with red pinstripes. The look she gives is practically familial, a _welcome home_ scored in brilliant silver instead of an analysis, though her lips stay in a line and hold any words she might want to say behind them very effectively. Yang lets a sigh escape once she sees the interior, all mahogany and candlelight; she brushes Blake’s shoulder and shakes her head with a smile again, harkening back to their earlier discussion about appropriate attire.  
“Less to take off, at least,” the blonde’s voice reverberates against the witch’s ear, almost begging, seductive in tone, but held higher in her throat due to their company. Blake shares an amused glance before dipping to her lips, thinks of sprawling gold hair resting beneath her, knuckles whitening on the headboard. Their waiter guides them to a corner table outside that overlooks the ocean, taking their orders before leaving. Thighs bump against each other in an action that could easily be played off as an accident if they got caught, at least until Yang breaks the silence,  
“You’re _Weiss Schnee?_ The heiress?” Her assertion prompts Weiss to intervene, correcting her before the conversation goes too far,  
“ex-heiress, actually. My father is _much_ happier now that he has a male heir.” Every word she says bites like the cold climate she’s used to. “And you must be Blake. I think I know enough about you from Yang’s texts to avoid any further questions.”

Sometimes it’s funny what one day can do; realising you never want to spend another second apart. Free to be themselves, to be a couple in the purest sense. Ruby’s the first to notice it while they eat. Kisses pressed against one another’s cheek getting longer and closer to their mouths as the sun sets. Like they haven’t been apart for centuries, like being together is automatic for them.  
“Do you _really_ have to do that in front of us?” Weiss spits, interrupting a borderline passionate one.  
“What can I say? I think I’m in love with her, or something.” The blonde jokes,  
“We’ll have to do something about that then,” Blake adds, trying to hide her amused lilt.  
“Ugh, gross.” Ruby interrupts, imitating gagging, “if you’re going to be all cutesy and funny you can leave now!”  
“Maybe we will. Come on, babe.” Yang’s fingers snap and they’re back in Blake’s bedroom, trying to reduce the space between them even further than skin-on-skin contact. The witch’s mind is sent reeling back to their first meeting, of Yang bending to her will so easily, of the pressure around her lower lip. It’s now that she realises, they’ve been looking at each other the same way all night. Love and lust mixed together and laid bare, worn on their sleeves. Lips part and meet, their experiences finally catching up with prior actions; it’s that first night all over again. Yang opts for a pulse point this time, hand knotting in Blake’s hair and pulling her head to one side to do so. Blake’s hands go to work on removing their tops, stopping to unbutton her jeans and adding them to the growing pile beside the pair. She leans back, lets Yang canter her hips on one thigh before pushing her onto the bed and throwing one leg over. Blonde hair splays across the sheets, contrasted by pleading, hooded red irises as Blake’s hand trails to the inside of her thigh, both pairs of eyes following it as she teases her so lightly the aching only increases.  
“ _Blake!”_ Low in her throat, the way her name ought to sound as she acquiesces to Yang’s desires. It isn’t long before she lowers her mouth between the blonde’s legs, lips curling upwards slightly at every breathy repetition of her name.  
“Fair’s fair, right?” Blake smirks, placing two fingers into the taller girl’s mouth as she repositions herself halfway up her chest, waits for a nod before straddling Yang’s head.

That night, she dreams of blooming fields and burning red. Of Adam’s ridiculous demands for a girl her age. 14, and forced to use magic. 14, with no escape. But she runs anyway, leaves everything behind and finds something, someone; a faunus, like her, loud and blunt and honest. Lets him become a new constant, safety in a hive of danger. Then, she’s 20 and ashes are snowing all around, though she fixates on a blonde in the distance, yellow and black scales fluttering away to reveal a more recognisable form. _I really would do this for you_ , the figure says, placing a hand to the ground and rejuvenating the land entirely as it was. _Belladonna,_ _I’d put out the sun to make you laugh._

Pyrrha’s returning from her bartending job in the early hours of the morning when Ruby finds her, red hair standing out against the black of her uniform and the night sky.  
“I used to know a girl who looked just like you.” The latter speaks, knowing the redhead is aware of her presence.  
“I could say the same about you. It’s… Nice to see you, Ruby.” She’s reserved and wistful, though a flicker of recognition sparks in the fields of her eyes, drags them down as the recollections join it. There’s a lot to be said about Pyrrha Nikos, but on edge usually isn’t one of those things.  
“I found the others. Weiss is never particularly hard to find-”  
“Even Jaune and Blake?” Pyrrha starts, nervousness sitting uncomfortably on her features. There’s something hiding behind it, but Ruby can’t place what it is.  
“Blake’s safe with Yang. Well, about as safe as those two ever got, anyway.” She pauses, senses her friend’s trepidation at the rest of the explanation, but continues regardless, “Jaune is with Qrow. He’s safe this time, Pyrr.”  
“That’s…” the taller girl’s attention finally shifts up from the floor, meets Ruby’s eyes and searches desperately for some sort of middle ground, hand instinctively covering her heart. “I know our souls are tied together, but-” the end of the sentence is lost to sobs, half-heartedly mouthed into Ruby’s shoulder.  
“’but’ nothing. He wanted you to find her, actually.” It’s a sentiment that bears repeating, if only to reassure herself of the fact. “For what it’s worth, he suggested you bring her along. We could always use another witch.”

Yang’s amazed she even understands the concepts of standing and walking after last night. Wonders if Blake’s the same way and grins devilishly, crimson seeping into lilac as she props herself up on the side of the bed. A pair of hands wraps around her waist from behind, limply locking her in place, though she’s not about to resist. Blake pulls herself up and against the blonde’s back, iron in her blood replaced with lead and holding her down, preventing any quick motions. A finger traces the indent of her spine amidst the yellow hair spiralling down around it as she murmurs into a shoulder blade,  
“Is that how every night with you ends?”  
“Only for you, Belladonna.” Yang shoots a smile and a wink over her shoulder, gathering her hair into a messy bun and sauntering to the shower. _Then I don’t want to spend another night without you,_ she thinks of shouting as the door softly closes. Groaning, muscles still fighting against her control, Blake retrieves a book from the bedside table, opening to a page marked with the current date and begins writing;  
_~~I’m in love with Yang.~~ I’ve been in love with Yang since before I can even remember, I think. Even our first kiss felt like the ~~hundredth~~ ~~thousandth~~ millionth. _She looks up, catches the hickeys on her neck in the mirror on the closet door, brings a hand over them and still feels Yang’s heat radiating away. There’s more space on the page, but she can’t bring herself to fill it with anything other than the blonde demon melting the bars of the cage around her heart in the absence of a key; something she’d thrown away a long time ago to keep Adam at bay. Now, even with the relative darkness of the room, sunlight breaking the illusion of night time by shining against the curtain and brightening the windowsill, he was nowhere to be found. No barked orders, no threatening presence looming over her. Just… silence. A reprieve from the turning of the planet, the passage of time. Her scroll alerting her of a new job breaks the reverie, auburn eyes blinking a few times to focus on the screen properly and make out the location; _Mountain Glenn._

_As good a place as any to get an actual workout done_ , Yang had reasoned, grabbing a Manticore by the horns and toying with it, letting a fang slip over her lip at the barest exertion, pulling her knee into the beast’s head and letting it fly into a ruined skyscraper. Another Grimm charges at her through the dust, bearing down on the red of her eyes before being kicked into the ground, hair igniting as she sends a burst of energy through the creature, watches it explode and lands on both feet. There’s a finesse to the unrefined nature of it. Deliberately unpredictable instead of clumsily executed, constant changes of direction and level making her impossible to hit. A style more suited for conscious opponents instead of the mindless monsters she’s tearing through. Every so often a bolt of yellow punctuates the action, scaled hand briefly materialising to blast a creature she knows she can’t easily reach. It’s only when she stops, chest heaving, that she realises Blake’s watching. Looking at her like she’s watching her own limbs move, her own heart racing in place of Yang’s. Purple fire gathers in the witch’s palm, ears turning to one side and picking out a Beowolf howl in the distance. Stretching out, the fireball launches itself, spiralling through several buildings before the whimper rings out and she grins.

Now it’s her turn to put on a show. Golden eyes glinting, sucking her partner in with temptations of fire and brimstone. Extending an open hand upwards, heavy clouds gather above, enough electricity to make hairs stand on end and ordinary people kneel. The forks of lightning hunt across the scenery relentlessly, each flash retreating with accompanying black smoke. Wind kicks up as the temporary storm dissipates, dust and ash of the ruins getting swept into the spiral behind Yang, suspending a Grimm and twisting it around and in on itself before bursting. Yang giggles, hair still burning bright, and for a split second the city’s ruin is their own doing, crossing deadened streets into an embrace, a kiss, a home. Somehow, they’re always most at home in the aftermath. Blake stops short of running straight into Yang’s arms, hooking two fingers through belt loops and dragging her the last short distance to each other’s mouths.  
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she whispers, pulling back only the required amount to form words. Even then, she isn’t sure if she’s referring to Yang, the ghost town, or both.  
“Yeah,” the taller girl replies, hands falling to Blake’s waist, “you are.”

Ruby gently pushes on the door to the book store, bell ringing just enough to startle Qrow into attention, shocked someone entered the store properly for once. She greets him with a small wave before pulling a book from a shelf, reading as she explains more for her own benefit than his,  
“It’s him. It _has_ to be.”  
“You’d know better than I do, kid.” The owner replies, returning to his glass now that the pleasantries are over.  
“He knows we’re all together again.”  
“Sorry, who knows we’re all together again?” A blonde boy asks, emerging from the back-room sans armour.  
“Ozpin.” Despite only Ruby knowing the real weight of the name, both Qrow and Jaune share a look of surprise, emotions reacting for them in the absence of memories.

“Well, _you_ look a lot happier than you did last time.” Blake pulls a chair out for Yang before sitting down herself, pretending to study Sun analytically as he sips a cup of tea using his tail.  
“I met a guy.” He shrugs noncommittally, “now that I’m not constantly checking up on you, I’ve had _plenty_ of time to look for someone more… My type.” His scroll vibrates, flashing up a picture of the man in question; blue hair roughly formed into a wave, in a colour that matches his eyes.  
“He’s cute!” the witch adds, stealing a glance at the photo before he can take the message. “I’m more into blondes, though,” she follows, nudging Yang with her shoulder as a playful pout forms.  
“And _I’m_ more into women,” her partner jokes, “in fact, I _might_ be a lesbian.” Sun’s hands fall to the table along with his jaw,  
“You? Never. I refuse to believe it!”  
“I can prove it if you want,” Yang snickers, arm finding its way around Blake’s shoulders and leaning down.  
“I think Blake being in love with you is proof enough.” He smiles, earnestly. It’s true; this is the happiest he’s seen his friend in the time they’ve been together. She’s always had a certain look in her eyes, cracks on the inside that she was trying so hard to stop leaking out. Now, they’re gone, replaced by the widening of her pupils whenever she snatches a glance at Yang, or rather, her pupils shrink whenever she’s _not_ looking at Yang.

They take a walk through the forest at Blake’s request, leave their scrolls in the house to avoid distractions. She’s wearing a plaid flannel shirt, open and leaving a white t-shirt uncovered, layers more to stave off the slight summer breeze than protect from any real cold. Yang’s sweater is tied around her waist, earthen brown standing out against the blue of her tank top and jeans. The setting sun makes Blake think of burning, of the girl whose hand is interlaced firmly with her own. Wonders why everything comes so naturally to the two of them, why sometimes Yang looks at her and it’s like she’s seeing so many different people. How all their motions are automatic, rehearsed millions of times, hundreds of lives collapsing in on a singularity with them at the centre. If there’s another life after this, it couldn’t possibly compare. She’d give up her own oxygen if Yang asked. But she doesn’t. A being capable of flattening entire continents if she wished, laughing, crying and loving just like anyone else.  
“Have you ever dated anyone else?” Blake inquires, doesn’t realise the true gravity of the question,  
“Once, but I don’t remember much of it. We were young and reckless.” The honesty pushes on her throat, tries to close it, tries to stop the words bleeding out from opened wounds. Her bangs are brushed away from her cheek, replaced by a light kiss and a smile so fragile it might break if she breathed.  
“You’re not reckless now?”  
“Baby,” Yang says, features shifting to a trademark confidence, “you haven’t _seen_ reckless yet.” She tugs Blake into her by the collar of her shirt, kisses her and the scenery fades away. Lets a hand slip down, underneath the waistband of her leggings and underwear, moving her against a tree as the girl’s spine arches. Yang drops to her knees, works Blake’s pants down her thighs as her grip on blonde hair tightens.  
_“Holy shit,”_ She wrestles the words free before stifling a gasp, _“fuck me, Yang,”_ follows in short order, heavy, haughty and wanting.  
“You wanted reckless, and that’s _kind of_ the plan,” is the only response, crimson irises shining back up at her.

Yang dreams, but it’s more like a memory stuck on repeat. A memory of Blake; she knows that much, at least. Tendrils of white lash wildly behind her, searing light pouring from her eyes and spells clashing, exploding, tearing the very room apart with their ferocity. _Where is she!?_ Her partner chokes on the question, tears burning in pearlescent streaks as the man she’s fighting drops to his knees. _She’s mine-_ , he sneers, but the remark is lost to the sounds of fires raging and worlds ending. The now-limp body falls, the machine Yang was entombed in sliding open. She finds Blake at the top of the tower, sobs the only thing to be heard from such height. _I love you,_ they echo, and she loses the moment, details already hazy as the sunlight warms her face.

“You think we’ve lived other lives?” Yang asks a supine Blake a few days after, head resting in her lap as she writes in her diary.  
“Maybe,” she answers, interest piqued at the idea. “But if I _did_ ,” the diary loudly closes, and she shifts to a more upright position with her legs sitting over her girlfriend’s, “I never met you. I’d _remember_ meeting you.” It’s accentuated with a kiss, and the first time Yang’s ever been left speechless. Even the music becomes static in the moment. Like the statement broke her heart and put the pieces back together again all at once. Her pulse disappears, replaced only by a sting she can’t place. Blood stops flowing, drains to its lowest points and pulls her heart down with it. _I shattered those memories to keep you sane,_ she wants to say, doesn’t understand the how or why. Doesn’t want to. Based on what Ruby’s told her, they all chose to forget for a reason. If only she could’ve forgotten how to love Blake.

Qrow very rarely checks on his nieces; it’s why he’s so surprised that Yang asked to talk to him on her own later that night. The broadsword on his back glows faintly, alerting him of imminent danger. His blade crashes and sparks against a stone-like forearm, extending into scythe mode and distancing him from the attacker.  
“Maybe next time, kid.” He folds the sword away onto his back, lets his posture fall to a hunch, hands resting in pockets. “I’m impressed you got that close before Harbinger noticed.”  
“Can I ask you something?” Yang’s voice is quiet, lacking the usual assuredness. “About your sword.”  
“-Oh.” Qrow can sense the question forming in her mouth, gathering the air to be voiced.  
“Could I do it?” She watches the scales and chitinous protrusions float away from her skin like petals, a reminder of Ruby’s mother’s influence on her. The old man looks on in silence, resisting the urge to turn his eyes away.  
“Is this for that Blake girl?” Understanding, but weary. The tone of a man who’s done the same. “You either love her, or you’re crazy.” Yang’s brief silence is met with a solemn nod as Qrow reaches for his flask.  
“Maybe I _am_ crazy.”  
“Sometimes that’s a good thing, firecracker.”

Blake’s alone. A rare event in recent memory, legs pulled against her on the couch as she sits against one of the armrests. The house and all its echoes are her only company as she reads and re-reads the spell that brought them together. Indulges in the cadence of it, how it only builds with no foreseeable end, just like Yang. Questions why Yang stuck around when her own edges are as sharp as the words on the paper in front of her, drawing blood because it’s the only way she knew how to live. She’s broken; at least, that’s how she sees herself. And Yang’s gathering shards, letting them slice and sink into her palms because she thinks the witch that summoned her is worth saving. _Take them, they’re yours,_ Blake insists, crumpling up the paper and watching as it combusts, bright ambers engulfing charcoal black. The demon reaches into it from behind her, unfazed by the fire and letting her other arm wrap around the witch’s midsection. She shuts her eyes, focuses on the nostalgia of it as paper turns to ash and breaths synchronise; power is eternal, even if knowledge isn’t. Indulging in each other’s displays of might, cinders and rubble a language only the two of them speak. _Run me through with your faults,_ Yang’s eyes gently open at the request, _dull their points on me_.  
“Can I show you something?” Blake asks, voice shaking as her ribcage rattles. A nod against her hair and she closes the distance between their hands, accepting the burnt page and soft skin.

It’s midnight, the fractured moon hanging high with borrowed light, and they’re sitting on a boardwalk out over the ocean. Blake blends into the darkness, wraps it around her for safety even now, pale skin fading away into hair as it uncurls out of a loose ponytail and spirals down her back and sides. Yang tucks a leg under her thigh, lets the other swing lazily over the water as they watch reflections distort. The witch knocks a supporting pillar, and it’s like the waves actually listen when she tells them to shut up. She pulls on a cord around her neck, lets the obsidian ring it’s threaded through fall against her. Her partner watches intently, follows its path before looking back up, mouth slightly agape.  
“This might sound weird, but this is for you.” Blake swallows, tries her best to make sense of what she means, “so I can find you again next time.” A gentle smile finds its home beneath softened eyes.  
“There’s a next time?” Yang laughs, lacing her hands behind her head and leaning back.  
“I think there should be,” the raven-haired girl joins her, “to make up for the first twenty years of this one.”  
To neither’s surprise, the ring fits perfectly; back where it belongs. Blake lets the waves speak again, extracts a hand from underneath Yang’s head to hold as they stargaze.  
“I think so too.”

Pyrrha’s the one that suggested everyone getting together for Ruby’s birthday. _Just like the very old times,_ she’d joked, calling her manager and asking if they could take over the bar for a night. It’s the first time they’ve been in the same room together for decades, and it barely shows. Her hand rests gently in Nora’s, both drawn into the science fiction world Jaune’s been writing for the past two years; humans uploading their minds into robots and fighting a different type of corruption than Remnant’s used to. Asking questions when it’s polite, shared glances when they realise a character inspiration or three. Weiss sits on a table, using a chair as a footrest and delicately bringing shots to her lips as Ruby cradles a Diet Coke on the stool nearest to her. Sun’s behind the bar with Pyrrha, mixing drinks for himself and Neptune to add to the steadily growing tower of empty glasses beside them. And still, somehow, the whole scene freezes when Blake and Yang walk in. Yang’s trademark leather jacket sits over a sheer top with a black bra visible underneath, giving way to abs, and, eventually, the waistband of her underwear just above where her stonewashed skinny jeans start, hugging her legs well into a pair of black knee-high boots. Blake looks like sex feels. A purple minidress with a low, plunging neckline, fitted to her upper half before flaring out at her hips and stopping at mid-thigh with strappy heels to match. Her girlfriend’s hand finds her waist, pulls her close as everyone watches them walk down the few steps into the bar proper. _It’s really her,_ Pyrrha raises an eyebrow in Ruby’s direction, making sure she isn’t misremembering. The birthday girl nods, smiling into her drink as time begins to flow normally again.

The party’s winding down by the time the two have some space to themselves again. Blake’s standing outside in Yang’s jacket when the latter joins her against the wall, watches the mist of her breathing swirl and dance under the streetlights. Throws an arm around her shoulders and exhales as her girlfriend huddles closer.  
“How’re you always so warm?” the witch ponders aloud, not really expecting a response.  
“Have you even _looked_ at me?” She snaps back, wit as quick as ever, “I’m hot, babe. In case you didn’t notice.” Her confidence is enough to wring a laugh out of her company, much shorter now without heels.  
“What does that make me then? If I’m so cold all the time?”  
“Drop dead gorgeous.” The reply is instant, like the whole conversation went exactly as planned. As is the elbow into her ribs, Blake’s cheeks reddening slightly.  
“You can’t make jokes like that when I’m drunk!” It’s slurred into Yang’s chest, but the words find their way out eventually.  
“What’re you gonna do? _Make_ me shut up?” Another cocky remark makes its way onto her lips, before being pushed down by a thumb and forefinger pushing her chin up and a pair of lips on her neck.  
“You know me _so_ well, Xiao Long.”

“So, Ozpin’s the guy who’s after all of you?” Nora gestures towards Ruby, Weiss and Pyrrha, making sure she understood the explanation properly.  
“And a lot of angels and demons.” Pyrrha adds, turning a chair onto a table and collecting a tray of glasses. “Cheating death like we did has… consequences.” She looks to Weiss, fails to hide the apologetic look in her eyes.  
“Ozpin thinks he’s on some mission from the gods, and we couldn’t let him win.” Ruby expertly balances three trays to the washer as she continues, “Qrow used some of his power to make us come back, but he couldn’t choose how. Yang, Jaune and Weiss, they…”  
“We chose to forget everything, in one way or another. It’s harder to find immortals when even they don’t know they’re immortal, after all.” Weiss finishes, wistful and sombre. She’s still drinking, carrying a bottle of vodka as everyone else sets the room straight. “As for Blake, well, we didn’t even expect her to come back.”

Yang materialises a set of scaled gauntlets and hops on her toes in the clearing outside Blake’s house, cocky grin plastered on her face and ready to rush her girlfriend. Remarkably enthusiastic, for someone who’d insisted she didn’t need practice only minutes ago. A blink, and she’s inches away from Blake, who merely laughs and flash-freezes the air around her to block the incoming clothesline.  
“If this were against anyone else, I’d call you rusty!” She provokes, bathes herself in bright yellows and reds as a rock pillar shatters and lets her counter with a fire spell. A rush that isn’t caused by desperation, by running. A taste of what it’s like to live again. Yang’s on the back foot, forced to sidestep an onslaught.  
“Gotcha.” The demon twirls and for a brief second, she’s a pole dancer instead of a fighter, gliding around a bolt of lightning from above, using her momentum to tackle Blake to the ground. Somehow, despite being the one straddling her, hair making the sun look dark in comparison, Yang’s the one who feels powerless, and the witch knows it, delights in it a little too much and lets it show.  
“Enjoying the view?” She regrets toying with her the moment her eyes go deadly red. Feels the pressure on her wrists change, blood crashing against skin as the demon leans down, teases her lips apart and sweeps her tongue across.

_There’s something more here,_ she’s forced to consider it, analyses the idea from every angle trying to find the how, the when, the _why._ They’re machined too perfectly, fall into place exactly as intended without conflict, without the abrasion she’s so used to, and it scares her a little. No random universe can create this, make two people so _right_ for each other that even their very molecules align. Maybe Yang made the universe and the perfect person to share it with; she could say it and at this point Blake would believe her.  
“Yang?” Even as the name leaves her mouth it becomes an ‘I love you,’  
“Hm?” The girl in question raises her eyes from stitching Blake’s emblem into her cargo pants beside her own, follows as her partner sits upright on the couch opposite her.  
“Do you believe in soulmates?” Part of her is begging for the next word to be a ‘yes’.  
“I’m starting to.” Yang admits, bites the end of the thread free with her teeth, “your mouth makes a _very_ good case.” She turns the pants to face Blake, basks in the smile she won’t show to anyone else. It’s smaller than usual, Yang suspects for a long time it was between herself and the universe, and she’s merely an onlooker, making sure nothing happens to break the moment.  
“Good.” The witch responds, nodding like there was a correct answer, “let me know when you meet her and I’ll get right out of your hair,” she ducks the predictable cushion, watches as the demon strides over before kneeling down and letting their foreheads touch.  
“You know damn well you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”  
“ _Maybe_ I do.” Her hands brush blonde bangs out of her face before settling on Yang’s shoulders, feeling them move with every breath. Perhaps she really _did_ make everything around them, after all.

For a while, they’re inseparable. Asking one of them to do something inevitably results in both of them, not that anyone minds. _It’s cute,_ they’ve all said it on several occasions, marvelling at the pair, sometimes even envying them. Which is why it’s even stranger that Ruby would ask to speak to Blake without her blonde shadow. _Someone_ has to tell her, she’d reasoned, decided it best to lift the burden off Yang. She’s standing over a grave, adorned with the same rose pattern she wears on her shoulder when the witch finds her.  
“Have you ever heard ‘The First Six’?” It’s an ominous title for a fairy tale, but not too far removed from the truth.  
“My Dad used to tell me about it when I was a kid,” Blake responds, prompting her friend to turn away from the grave and face her.  
“An old man, burdened with immense power stows parts of it away inside a human, an angel, and a demon, along with three unique hybrids of those creatures. The power allows them to reincarnate, bound to one another like fibres in a rope. He goes into hiding amongst humans, abandons his memories and leaves the task to his six chosen.”  
“In the hope his greatest enemy may one day be defeated.” The witch finishes, narrowing her eyes before asking, “it’s true?”  
“Yang and I, we- we’re two of the six. Pyrrha, Jaune and Weiss makes five.”  
“And you’re six.” Yang’s almost destroying the cliff all three of them stand on with every step, irises the same colour as the sunset, Ursa over one shoulder as if it weighs nothing. “The human. The witch who could move continents. Who reincarnates by another’s gift instead of the old man’s. Can I talk to you? _Alone?”_ She glares at her sister, who take the cue just as quickly.

Mirrors shatter, walls bleed and roses wilt. In a way, that’s the problem; they’re perfectly capable of bringing death wherever they go, but they don’t. Not unless something happens to the other. The death of everything, because nothing else ever really mattered. Chaos, kept in check by the red string of fate tied around both their hearts. Yang looks at Blake and sees the end of all things personified, an endless void of black masquerading as hair that falls to her waist.  
“I…” Yang faulters, a rare enough occurrence that it causes the witch to look up from the ground, ears pricked slightly, to look at her. “I think I worked out why we’re so good together.” Melancholy is definitely not a tone that suits her, finding Blake’s desperate embrace both welcoming and upsetting at the same time.  
“Oh?” Her partner asks, soothing tone overriding any worry.  
“It’s-it’s better if you see it yourself.”

A snap of the fingers and they’re back home, Yang’s hand on her cheek and eyes closed, focusing on _something._ She feels it too; calling from somewhere deep inside, spilling out of her eyes and over now-scaled fingers. She’s crying, and she doesn’t know why, studies the reflection in the demon’s eyes and sees the colour in her own fading, draining in yellow streaks down her face. Then it’s gone. There’s a noticeable distance between them, carpeted but feeling like a chasm, impossible to cross yet oh so tempting.  
“Watch out for amber eyes. Ruby told me that.” The blonde sighs, taking each of Blake’s hands.  
“Why?”  
“Why does anyone with knowledge beyond their years warn you of something? You’re dangerous. _We’re_ dangerous.” Yang pulls her close and falls with her; down, down through the fog over things they’d chosen to keep buried.  
_Belladonna, I’d bring the world to its knees if it hurt you.  
Xiao Long, I’d rip myself apart to keep you here._

Their dream finally plays out in full. Ozpin has Yang, plans to use her as an obedient vessel for powers he can’t control. Blake lets herself loose, bursts through every known limit of magic to get to her, pushes her body so far that she can’t go back, even if she tried. The light sears everything she touches, whips around in an uncontrollable storm, roughly tamed and directed towards the immortal. Only one thing is unfettered by the walking disaster, at home in the unnatural fires and scorched ground. Yang. Her hand rests silently on the force of nature’s shoulder, turns her gently and greets her with the warmest smile a broken body can muster.

“I love you.” They both wrangle out of whatever’s left of their lungs, tired and cracked.  
The demon bites her lip, knows what has to happen, pleads to whatever deities she can to find another way, but none reply. Blake’s burning up, literally; if the magic isn’t contained, she could take everything they hold dear with them. A kiss. That’s all it takes. A kiss, and everything falls apart. Yang tastes like ash and electricity, mixed with a hint of cherry. It’s all they can do to keep it going for as long as possible, demonic energy coursing through her veins and tinting them yellow. Humans aren’t designed to handle that power. She grabs the raven-haired girl as tightly as possible, tries to rip out her heart and trade places. _Anything for each other._ Ruby’s words rattle around inside her head, slowing with Blake’s pulse. When her muscles finally give way, Yang screams, and the battle’s over.

“You-” Blake stammers, hands balled against the taller girl’s chest.  
“Ruby said you might come back with us, but there wasn’t a guarantee,” Yang explains, doing her best to sound detached, preparing for the love of her life to walk away. “Told everyone we could forget if we wanted. But I couldn’t, Blake. Not you.”  
“I… My whole life, I thought…” She’s still reeling, remembering what it was like to share in her partner’s power. “They always told me I was special. That my magic was different.”  
“Your eyes, Belladonna. I saw me in your eyes. Just as much as I saw you.” The blonde shakes, voice ringing out like an alarm bell. The nerves are swayed by Blake’s lips on hers, raw and honest. _You tore me apart and found all my pieces,_ she thinks, hopes the girl she’s kissing can read her mind, _and I’ve been yours this whole time. We’re dangerous, and crazy, and made for each other._ Their eyes burn the same colour, as a set of gauntlets form on Yang’s wrists.  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Blake reassures, casts her eyes down to the new weapons, metallic yet organic at the same time.  
“Good.” Her girlfriend replies, even once more. “I couldn’t spend another life away from you.”


End file.
